


Sunkissed

by Benjamin_Winter



Series: Young Hearts: Original, Romantic Erotica [5]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Erotica, F/M, Fantasy, Gratuitous Smut, Insecurity, Loss of Virginity, Low Fantasy, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Race, Romance, Smut, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Vaginal Sex, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjamin_Winter/pseuds/Benjamin_Winter
Summary: Born of a tan-skinned immigrant mother in a wealthy caste who shun that complexion, conflicted eighteen-year-old noblewoman Sophia Thomas resolves to cast off her deep-seated shame and share in something special with the boy she's always loved.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone who gives kudos has my heartfelt thanks. I do read all comments, so feel free to leave one.

  
          When her bedroom door swung shut, Sophia turned in her stool to face the mirror of her vanity desk. She grabbed her hairbrush and ran it through her long, dark-brown locks in smooth but forceful strokes, again, again, and again. It was worth the tedium. She wanted to be at her best. When she’d gotten her hair like silk, Sophia returned the brush to the shelf, beside the burning beeswax candle. She dipped her fingers into the rose water in its ornate silver bowl and dabbed it onto her flesh, in the pits of her arms, the crevices beneath her breasts, and the upper crack of her bum. She flinched when her finger glanced against her nethers. The waxing had left herself still painfully sensitive to her touch, but, thankfully, that feeling was fading. It would be gone before long. Or so Sophia hoped, at least. She had never done it before.

          When Sophia finished with the rose water, she gazed into the mirror and drew a deep breath, taking in the sight of herself. She brought a hand to the side of her face, a pretty face, even she could admit, with clear, gray-green eyes, a shapely, sloped nose, full lips, and a chin with a soft, feminine curve. Or, rather, she thought it was a face that _would_ be pretty. Sophia frowned as her eyes lingered on her cheek, on the color of her skin: tan. Not pale, not fair, no, not even close. Being of mixed race, born of an islander mother, the color was her natural complexion. She could not cast it off. She could go a year where every hour spent outdoors was under a parasol and she would still be no paler.

          When she was little, Sophia’s father had told her that her complexion was from the sun kissing her soul before she was born. He had said it was on God’s behalf. Sophia had a hard time believing God could order something so cruel. To her, it seemed more of an act of the Devil. She was born in wealth, but her color had her treated like a leper. _‘Tanskin.’ ‘Darkie.’ ‘Wildling.’_ Those were the insults other girls so oft threw Sophia’s way. She’d like to be able to say those words never hurt her, but sometimes, when she least expected it, they did.

Sophia’s frown worsened as her hand traveled her neck downwards. Her body was of thin frame and short stature, no taller than five-foot-three. Her breasts were perky but smallish, and adorned with dark nipples. Her waist and hips had a noticeable curve, but they led to little, as her arse was no more impressive than her breasts. Sophia was a woman of eighteen years, but she didn’t think she looked it. Her body wasn’t womanly. It was girlish. _‘Petite.’_ Sophia hated that word, but there was no better way to describe her. And even Sophia’s voice was not how she would’ve liked it. Too deep. Nothing like a man’s, no, but not as feminine as she wanted, either. She used to catch herself speaking in a higher pitch than was natural. Stupid.

          But this was not a day for those dour thoughts. This was a day for love. Sophia had set a plan into motion, and God willing, it would spark the beginning of the rest of her life. And what a wonderful life it would be.

          But first, there was still more to be done. Sophia let out a quick, calming sigh, cleared her thoughts, and reached for the mascara brush.

          - - -

          _Five hours earlier,_

          Musicians strummed away on their lutes and sang pleasant songs as they serenaded the crowd of marketgoers, hoping a few coins will be tossed their way. Sophia enjoyed their music, and normally she would tip them, but today her coin purse was empty. She did not come to the market to shop.

          It was a warm day, and Sophia garbed herself in a simple, airy dress of a sleeveless, buttoned bodice and a long, ruffled skirt. It was a frugal dress devoid of any dyes, and its colors were that of its woolen cloths: off-white and beige. On most days, Sophia would be one of several different tan-skinned girls and women in the upper city’s affluent market – most being servants, but a few being like Sophia, born of islander mothers – but this was not such a day. Today Sophia was the lone, lightly-brown blemish in an otherwise pale tapestry of fair-colored flesh. The sun shined bright in the blue, cloudless sky above her, and as such, all other women in the markets held parasols above their heads. The mothers shielded themselves as well as their daughters. The wealthiest of them had servants handle the duty. There was once a time when Sophia would do the same as them, if for no other reason than to blend in and be as every other girl was, but she had since grown out of that. It was a waste of time. It did nothing more for her than make her arm tired.

          She’d left her home knowing what it was she wanted, but it wasn’t something in a tradesman’s stall, and thankfully, her search was short-lived. She found him watching the markets with his hands idly clasped at his waist, holding the wrist of one hand with the other. Joseph Beckham. A young man of nineteen years, now nearing twenty. Joseph’s visage was a handsome one, with a strong nose and stronger jaw, and with eyes bright and blue. His face was clean-shaven and smooth, and his wavy, disheveled hair of thick, chestnut-brown curls reached past the nape of his neck. He was a tall man, far taller than Sophia. His skin was fair, but hours of standing in the bright sun had his flesh more peach than pale. Unlike with women, there was no stigma to a man of the mainland having flesh colored by the sun, and Sophia had a feeling Joseph wouldn’t care if there was.

          Joseph wasn’t wellborn as Sophia was, and he did not know the wealth she knew, but his family was respected by all – lowborn, wellborn, and highborn alike – for its long line of men who chose to serve the city. Like his father, his three elder brothers, and most every other Beckham man before him, Joseph had chosen the profession of a city guardsman. Being on watch, he wore the armor of every guardsman serving: a manila-colored gambeson, a sort of woolen, thickly-padded jacket with long sleeves and a split-skirt, with five horizontal buckle straps to keep it snug, and a swordbelt fastened tight around its waist. On that belt, a leather-wrapped blackjack was fastened to Joseph’s right hip, as was a longsword sheathed in its brown leather scabbard on his left. Sophia wished Joseph could wear a suit of plate over his gambeson for more protection, as knights do, but there were too many guardsmen and too little good steel for that. Whenever she would express her fear for his safety to him, Joseph would always remind her that a Beckham hadn’t died serving the city for more than a hundred years. Sophia did not doubt it was the same line all Beckham men said to the women who loved them. Sophia smirked at the thought of it; if a Beckham man did actually happen to die in service, the others would be left in dire straits indeed.

          Sophia did not go to Joseph as soon as she spotted him. For a short while she simply stood there, admiring the sight of him as other marketgoers passed her by.

          Sophia had known Joseph for six years, and they’d been sweethearts for nearly as long. He was the first boy she ever kissed. First and only. Sophia wondered daily what being more intimate with him would be like, but fear always stopped her from ever discovering that. She had never even kissed him with tongue. Sophia hated the thought that, at an age where some other girls had been wedded for two or three years, she had never even deep-kissed the boy she’d been in love with for a third of her life. Her fear had stifled their love ... but it wouldn’t anymore. That was coming to an end. Sophia had spent the morning mapping out a plan in her mind, and she intended to follow it through. She wouldn’t let shame cripple her life any longer.

          “Joseph!” Sophia finally called out as she bounded over to him.

          Joseph turned her way when he heard her. “Hey, love,” he said, and a smile spread across his lips as Sophia came to stand before him. His head towered over Sophia’s. He stood nearly a full foot taller than her.

          Sophia rose to her tiptoes and cupped his cheek in her hand as she pecked a loving kiss to his lips. “You’re well, I hope?” she asked when she stood flatfoot again, gazing into the blue of his eyes.

          Joseph’s smile widened. “Better now,” he said.

          Joseph’s voice was smooth and deep, and he spoke with the northern commoner’s accent, unlike Sophia’s posh, courtly one. Though Sophia spoke ‘love’ and ‘above’ with uh’s, as in _‘luhve’_ and _‘abuhve,’_ Joseph spoke them more with oh’s, closer to _‘lohve’_ and _‘abohve.’_ There were a few other differences as well, but that was the most noticeable. Some wellborn and highborn girls despised the commoner accent – even going as far as to order their maids to speak without it – but Sophia did not. She liked the sound of it. Or maybe she simply liked the sound of Joseph himself. He had the power to always brighten her day, without fail, no matter how sour her mood or how dour her mind, and judging by how Joseph glowed when she kissed him, Sophia was glad to know that the reverse seemed to be true as well.

          “When does your watch end?” Sophia asked, still cupping Joseph’s cheek.

          “After dusk,” Joseph answered as his smile faded into a frown. “Another nine-to-nine,” he said somberly.

          Perfect.

          “Damn,” Sophia quietly cursed, feigning disappointment as she frowned with Joseph. It was the first time she’d ever been dishonest with him. But if things went as Sophia planned, tonight would be a night of many firsts.

          “I’ll come for you tomorrow, after breakfast,” Joseph said. “We’ll do something then.”

          “Tomorrow,” Sophia agreed, nodding.

          No, not tomorrow. Tonight.

          _“Hey!”_ a gruff voice shouted. Sophia and Joseph turned as an older guardsman with an unwieldly, black beard and bald head stormed towards them. “D’you think being a Beckham will stop me from clubbing you, boy?” he growled at Joseph, glaring at him.

          Joseph squared his shoulders and shook his head. “No, sir,” he said.

          “Then follow the damn code,” the guardsman spat at him. _“‘My eyes are for all.’”_

          “I was just leaving, sir,” Sophia said.

          The guardsman whipped his head towards her. “Then begone,” he growled.

          Though she greatly wished to kiss Joseph goodbye, Sophia knew it would only anger the older guardsman further, and it wasn’t worth Joseph’s suffering, and so she wordlessly turned away and left them.

          Learning the time of Joseph’s watch’s end was only the first step of Sophia’s plan. The next was to find her closest friend, Madelyn Coulston, a girl two months Sophia’s senior whom she’d known for most all her life. Her best friend. The only girl Sophia knew who had never once mocked her for the color of her skin or for being born of an islander mother. Her father was a longtime friend of Sophia’s, and she and Sophia were like sisters when they were little, sharing a nanny, and even oft being bathed together. Though they stayed close, Madelyn had walked a slightly different path than Sophia as they’d grown. She’d become wise of things Sophia was not. Things of the flesh. She was promiscuous. Some girls thought less of Madelyn for that, but Sophia didn’t. In fact, Sophia envied her. Intimacy came so easily for her. And tonight, Sophia would put Madelyn’s knowledge to use.

          Thankfully, Sophia knew just where she’d likely find her. The jeweler’s stand. Sophia and Madelyn’s fathers were both men of wealth, but Sophia’s had taught her prudence with coin and to be wary of losing herself to materialism. Madelyn’s did not do the same. Sophia owned somewhere near twenty pendants and brooches. Madelyn owned hundreds.

          It was a short walk through to the market to the jeweler’s stand, and sure enough, there Madelyn stood, admiring the large sapphire embedded in a pendant. She had a talent of being the most extravagantly dressed in any one place no matter the women around her, and today was no different, as she wore a lavish gown of silver and blue, the same colors of the parasol she clutched over her head. Her hair cascaded far down her shoulders, long, flaxen-blonde locks of effortless health, always shining. Her flesh was a pale white, nearly porcelain. Her nose was slender, her cheekbones were tall, and her lips were plump and supple. And she was a beauty of both face and body. Her hourglass frame was curvy and womanly, and she’d grown into it years ago. And of course, her voice was perfect too, like the prettiest of songbirds. Light and airy, with a hint of a gentle rasp. Madelyn was a fair maiden in every sense. Well, all except for one. If she wasn’t her best friend, Sophia would feel far more ashamed of how jealous she was of her.

          Sophia walked to Madelyn and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Maddie,” Sophia said.

          Madelyn turned her head Sophia’s way with curious eyes. “Hey, Soph,” she greeted her, smiling. She held the sapphire pendant closer to Sophia. “D’you see this? Incredible, isn’t it?”

          “Yes, it’s lovely,” Sophia said hurriedly as she spared her a quick nod. “Could I speak to you in private for a moment?”

          “Very well,” Madelyn said as she set the pendant back on its stall shelf.

          Sophia took Madelyn’s hand and ushered her towards a quieter space in the middle of the street, beside the wide bowl of an unlit brazier, where only their own ears could hear their words. “You’re visiting a cousin in the Capital for a few nights, aren’t you?” Sophia asked.

          Madelyn nodded. “Yes. Why?”

          “I need a favor.”

          “What is it?”

          Sophia paused and began wringing her hands. “Would you ... would you lie to my father for me?”

          Madelyn thought it over for a moment. “For a good cause,” she said.

          Sophia’s heart felt as though it sank to her bowels. That wasn’t the answer she was hoping to hear. How quick her supposedly well-laid plans could fall apart. “And what would be a good cause to you?” she asked.

          Madelyn grinned. “A boy.”

          Sophia sighed as she swelled with relief, her heart rising anew. “Then I’m in luck,” she said.

          Madelyn bounced on her feet, shaking her fist with glee. “Oh, joyous day! My little darling Sophia is finally plucking her flower!”

          Sophia narrowed her eyes and smiled. _“‘Little darling?’_ You’re two months older than me,” she noted.

          “And yet so much more traveled,” Madelyn said. “You’re going to tell me _all about_ what happens, you understand?”

          “I will do no such thing,” Sophia said, laughing and shaking her head. “You’re with me, then? If my father asks, you’ll tell him I’m leaving the city with you?”

          “I will.”

          Sophia breathed another sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, and she took Madelyn’s free hand and gently squeezed it. “This means a lot to me, Maddie. I won’t forget this.”

          Madelyn’s grin softened into a gentle, sunny smile. “It’s my pleasure.”

          “Also,” Sophia quickly began, “D’you recall that ... _thing_... you said you’d do for me?”

          “No,” Madelyn said, shaking her head.

          Sophia timidly bit her lip. “The ... the thing you said boys like.”

          Madelyn’s face lit up with another mischievous grin as she laughed. _“Oh,_ yes,” she said with a nod.

          “I want to do it.”

          Madelyn nodded again. “I’ll get the wax.”

          - - -

          Madelyn tore away another strip of hair from between Sophia’s legs, and Sophia jammed her eyes shut and clapped her hand over her mouth to silence her own screams.

          “Calm yourself, for God’s sake,” Madelyn grumbled as she flicked the strip of hair into a pot and dipped a fresh strip into a bowl of wax. “It doesn’t hurt that bad,” she said. “Big baby. You’ve a lot to get rid of ... like a sodding forest.”

          - - -

          That evening, after dinner, Sophia went to her father in the study. She opened the door just wide enough to slip through before shutting it behind her. The room was lined with shelves of books, rivalling that of the library of the Lord’s own keep. A spacious desk with a quill and inkwell stood in the corner of the room, and flames silently flickered in the fireplace behind a pane of glass. Facing the fire, Sophia’s father sat in his velvet-cushioned lounge chair, holding a leather-bound booklet in his hands, reading in the light of three beeswax candles sitting on an end table at his side. He had just come from the bath. He was garbed in his bathrobe, and his short hair – brown with gray roots – was still noticeably wet. His face was long and angular, with a square, stub chin. His beard and mustache were trimmed short and kept tidy. Wrinkles of middle-age sat around his soft, brown eyes, but he showed few other signs of his fifty years living. Spending his days indoors left his flesh a pale white. He was a handsome man, and with his wealth, he could’ve taken nearly any woman he desired as a wife after he was widowed, but he never did. If that left him lonely, it did not show. His soul was a bright one. Sophia wished hers could be like it. But there was yet hope for that.

          Her father hadn’t told Sophia he’d be spending the evening in the study, but she knew he’d be there. He oft joked that, below Sophia and her late mother, literature was his third great love, and that certainly showed. He would spend the waning hours of most evenings reading, whether it be some tome of a mythical epic or any other fiction he could get his hands on. He and his love for reading were well-known, and, at his request, playwrights would oft send him manuscripts of their works two or three weeks before the words were breathed by a thespian. Sophia declined to have that privilege shared with her. She preferred the theater.

          Even in an activity as simple as reading, Sophia’s father had an air of decorum and properness to him. It was an air he always had, but that was to be expected, considering who and what he was. To everyone else in the city, he was Charles Thomas, wellborn aristocrat, Chancellor of the Court, and Steward to the Lord, but to Sophia, he was simply:

          “Papa?”

          Papa took his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and lowered his book. A smile came to him when his eyes found hers. “Yes, darling?”

          “Madelyn and I are leaving the city for the weekend. She’s visiting a cousin in the Capital, and I’m going with her.”

          On a different occasion, Sophia would’ve felt shame for lying through her teeth to her father, but if there was ever a time for dishonesty, this was it.

          “You haven’t wanted to leave the city in years,” Papa noted.

          “Well ... things change.”

          Papa nodded, still smiling. “That they do.” He watched her silently for a moment – a short moment, admittedly, but to Sophia it seemed far too long – before he again nodded. “Very well,” he said.

          Sophia paused at that. “That’s ... that’s it?” she asked.

          Papa gave an idle shrug. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

          Sophia tilted her head warily. “You ... you can ask Madelyn about it yourself, if you’d like. She’ll tell you.”

          “No, that’s alright,” Papa said. “I trust you.”

          “But ... you don’t believe me.”

          “Sophia,” Papa began, and he cleared his throat as he stood to his feet and set his book and spectacles on the near table. “I don’t care where you’re going. You’re eighteen years old. You’re a grown woman.” He strode to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. He was not a man of tall stature, and he stood only three or four inches taller than Sophia; when he was with the Lord in the keep, the knights towered over him. “And I trust your judgement,” he added, still shining his fatherly smile at her. “You’ve always been a wise girl.”

          As his eyes looked into hers, studying her like only a father could, he stumbled across what Sophia had tried so very hard to hide from him. He found her fear. And at that moment, every piece of armor Sophia had carefully assembled around herself suddenly collapsed.

          “I’m scared, Papa,” she whispered.

          “Why?” he whispered back.

          “I don’t want to mess up,” she said, her words barely above the edge of hearing. “I want tonight to go right.”

          “You can’t guarantee it will, darling,” Papa gently warned her. “You can’t guarantee anything in this world. The best you can do is to follow your heart.”

          “I am,” Sophia declared. “I swear to you I am.”

          “Then all will be right,” he assured her. “I followed my heart when I wedded your mother, you know. And maybe that brought me sorrow, but ... it also brought me you. And you’ve made every hardship I’ve ever suffered worthwhile. Your mother would be _so_ proud of you, Sophia. So _very, very_ proud. If only she could’ve just seen you. She was so excited to meet you. But she’ll meet you someday, won’t she?”

          Papa brushed a tear from Sophia’s cheek that she did not know she had wept.

          Sophia traced a finger under her eyes. “Is the mascara running?” she asked.

          “Not yet. It will if you keep crying.”

          Sophia stretched her jaw and drew a strong breath through her nose to fight back her tears.

          “Sometimes you have to be bold in life,” Papa added. “To just do what you feel is right, without fear. And with a little luck, things’ll go just how you want them to.” He patted her cheek. “Now go on, darling. Be bold.”

          - - -

          The sun was dipping below the horizon as Sophia made her way to Joseph’s home, clutching her ironbound suitcase in her hand. His home was one of many flats in a massive, nine-storey building in the mid-city’s residential quarter. As was all those around it, it was constructed of crimson firebricks, the best marriage of functionality and parsimony the city’s Lord was willing to splurge on. The building housed residents – both families and bachelors – of widely varying classes and wealth. Clean water was available to all from only a short walk away, courtesy of the city’s towering aqueducts and numerous reservoirs. Of the ten floors of the building, each were of different arrangements. Higher floors housed more individual flats. The further you had to climb the stairs to a floor, the smaller the flats were, and the cheaper their rent. The higher the floor, the lower the class. Joseph’s flat was on the fifth.

          After climbing the outdoor stairway to the fifth floor, Sophia strode down the hall that split the north and south flats, until she came to Joseph’s door, the furthest to the east. She brandished the key from her pocket and inserted it into the door’s warded lock. The key was Joseph’s only spare. It probably would’ve been wiser to give it to one of his brothers or his father, but despite the fact Sophia had never once spent the night there, Joseph chose to give it to her. A beckoning gesture, maybe, or maybe it was something more innocent, as if to say: if you need it, my home is yours. Regardless, she had never needed to use it. Until now.

          Inside, Joseph’s flat was of modest space, with a half-kitchen, a living area, a privy, and a single bedroom, all with fur rugs dotted across the concrete floor. The kitchen and living area both made up one room. The kitchen was complete with a small table that could seat two, a series of several cupboards, a single corner countertop, and a hearth with a chimney that rose upwards at an angle, venting its smoke through the wall and out into the city. The living area was nothing more than a settee, a lounge chair, and a low table. The privy was simply a chamber pot behind a door. In Joseph’s bedroom was a desk with a chair, a stand for his sword, and a large trunk that sat at the foot of his bed, which was adorned with sheets, blankets, and pillows all of white, warm wool. Throughout the flat, its windows were large enough to allow in a good amount of natural light from the sun, as was to be expected. They were barred with rusted iron grates designed to discourage one from dumping a chamber pot’s excrement onto an unsuspecting pedestrian below. The string-and-cherrywood blinds that hung over each window were not there when Joseph had moved in. His mother had fashioned them, and Sophia had helped her do it.

          Joseph’s home was not one of wealth – a sharp contrast from Sophia’s – but it was a humble dwelling, and Sophia held no ill will towards it. Truthfully ... she liked it.

          The evening twilight bled through the windows as Sophia stood in the kitchen. The sun would be gone soon. She’d need light. The fire of her own home’s hearth was kept lit at all times, being tended to by the servants, but Joseph had no such privilege, and as such, he always kept the tools to light candles on-hand, and Sophia knew where he kept them. She slid out the leftmost drawer in his kitchen and took the tinderbox from within. With it in hand, Sophia made her way to Joseph’s bedroom. She set her suitcase atop his trunk at the foot of his bed and strode to his dresser, on which four tall, unspent candles stood. She opened the tinderbox and began striking its flint and fire striker over the charcloth. Sophia had lit a fire only a few times before, and it took quite a few strikes to get an ember burning in the box. When she did finally manage it, she took the burning cloth and held it to each candle. After each wick was burning, Sophia went again to the kitchen and placed the tinderbox in its drawer before promptly returning to Joseph’s bedroom. She removed her shoes and set them in the corner, and she clasped her hands together as she sat on the edge of the bed, intent on patiently waiting to hear the flat’s entry door open. She still hadn’t any idea what she’d say to Joseph when he found her, but she was here, and that was a good start.

          As Sophia sat there and waited, she unconsciously took her bottom lip further and further between her teeth. She did not like the quiet. The quiet was when her worrisome mind was at its worst, and the silence of Joseph’s empty flat was a deathly one. As the minutes ticked by, the corners of Sophia’s mind curled inwards on itself, and the monsters she’d buried in shallow graves began rising from them. They were monsters that she had come to know far too well. _Doubt. Fear._ And the strongest of them all: _Shame._ When Sophia finally heard the flat’s entry door open and a series of footsteps plod against the floor towards the bedroom, the monsters already had her. She was already lost.

          Joseph deserved better than her.

          Joseph came through the bedroom door with a lit oil lantern in hand. He stood now in commoner’s clothes, without his gambeson. Surprise colored his face when he saw her. “Sophia?” he asked as he affixed his sword in its stand by the door. He set his lantern atop his desk and snuffed out its flame. “What’re you doing here?”

          Sophia turned her head towards him. “I’ve chained you,” she whispered before swallowing a thick, audible gulp. Her throat felt swollen. “I’ve shackled you to me like a slave. God forgive me.”

          Joseph strode her way until he stood over her, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

          Sophia rose to her feet and locked her eyes with his. “I’ve cursed you,” she mused, sorrow darkening her voice. “I made you smitten with a girl who gives you _nothing_ in return, to suffer through—”

          —Joseph put his hand over Sophia’s mouth. “Stop,” he said to her, weakly shaking his head. There was a look of hurt in his eyes, as though he couldn’t believe the words she spoke. “Sophia, I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen well,” he said, his voice clear and unwavering. He moved his hand from her mouth to her cheek. “You are no curse, and I’ve not suffered. Only the opposite. These years we’ve had together, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. There’s no one I’d rather have spent them with. You are the love of my life, and I wish for nothing more than to be the same for you, but—”

          “—You are,” Sophia declared.

          Joseph smiled at that, but it softened when he continued his thought. “But you shouldn’t be here if you don’t want to be.”

          “I wanted to do this two years ago,” Sophia whispered. “I’ve yearned for you for so long, Joseph,” she said. “But ... I’m stricken with shame.”

          Joseph narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Shame of what?”

          Sophia pulled her dress over her head and tossed it to the floor, stripping to her lingerie brassiere and panties, both colored midnight-black by expensive, exotic dyes. She’d purchased the lingerie two years ago with the intent to immediately wear it on that first night she made love with Joseph ... but that night never came. Yet here she finally stood, baring herself to him, revealing most of her flesh to his eyes ... but she’d not revealed herself to him in the way she’d fantasized of doing it. Instead, she did exactly what she feared earlier that evening that she’d do: she lost her courage. She let shame sink her.

          “I’m hideous,” she muttered, hanging her head and looking to the floor. “My flesh is scourged by the sun.”

          Joseph grabbed Sophia’s chin and made her face upwards again, where his eyes awaited her. “You think I’m bothered by the color of your skin?” he asked, and again he shook his head. “To my eyes, you are the most beautiful girl in the land.” Then, as Sophia watched, another smile came to him, a gentle smirk that curled along his lip. “And d’you want to know something?”

          Sophia swallowed another thick gulp.

          “I like your color.”

          Sophia took Joseph in her arms and pushed herself into him, standing on the tip of her toes as she pressed her lips onto his. Her right hand took a fistful of the thick curls of his hair as her left went to the back of his neck. She took her lips from Joseph’s only to quickly return them, and then again, and again. Joseph mimicked her. That smooth, rhythmic dancing of their lips always came naturally to Sophia, and it took no effort to girlishly grace and caress Joseph’s lips with her own _just_ how she wanted to, in _just_ the right way.

          As their lips met again and again, Sophia grew bolder. She opened her mouth and brought her tongue into the fray of their kiss, and Joseph promptly welcomed it with his own. When her tongue first touched his, a tingling flushed through her, a rush of warmth that both soothed and stimulated her. She brushed Joseph’s wet tongue with her own in each and every joining of their lips, and as simply as that, they were deep-kissing for the first time. It was ... _easy._ Easy and relieving. Sophia sighed, and her body – which she only then realized had nervously stiffened – gently slackened against Joseph’s. His large, towering frame was a comfort like she’d never known, soft but strong, loving but unyielding. With her body pressed against his, she was floating on a cloud. Her worries were silenced. There was no doubt, no fear, no shame ... only love. Just when Sophia began to wish that Joseph was holding her, his strong arms wrapped around the bare small of her back and hugged her tightly. Sophia swooned as her knees buckled. Her legs felt like they’d soon give out from under her. She wanted to say something before that happened.

          Sophia broke their kiss. “I don’t want to be sweethearts anymore,” she said as she gazed into Joseph’s eyes. “I want to be lovers.”

          Joseph leaned towards her for another kiss, but it was a brief and gentle one, and when he reared back, he said to her, “Then that’s what we’ll be.”

          They leaned together in unison and kissed again, and once more their tongues met and mingled. Joseph’s hands on Sophia’s back slid downwards, past her panties, where they soon found the bare cheeks of her bum. His fingers curled into her tight flesh, squeezing her gently, and that same rush of tingling warmth washed through her once more. She pulled back and broke their kiss again, but this time she kept her face close to his, their lips only inches apart.

          “Do I make you lustful?” she asked him in a timid whisper, looking to him with curious eyes.

          “Very,” he answered meekly.

          His confidence had ebbed, and his expression was now a sheepish one. That surprised Sophia to see ... but only briefly. He had never done this either, after all. Just as Sophia had never bedded a boy, Joseph had never bedded a girl. They were the only sweethearts either of them had ever been with. Joseph did not know a woman’s flesh. Not yet. And that look in his eyes ... he wanted Sophia to guide him. She wasn’t sure if she knew how. But she would try.

          Sophia took Joseph’s hand and walked him to his bed. She seated him on its edge and climbed over him and straddled his lap, facing him, putting his eyes at level with her black brassiere, which she then reached behind herself to unhook. When she slipped the straps off her shoulders, the brassiere finally fell from her, baring her perky breasts to the air. Joseph’s eyes immediately caught on them, and his gaze fixated on her dark nipples. Bashful, Sophia shyly held her arm under her breasts, propping them up and giving them more heft. She watched Joseph’s eyes as they studied her, eager – and nervous – to see his reaction.

          “They’re ... petite,” Sophia muttered.

          “They’re perfect,” Joseph said. And he ... he meant it. Joseph’s eyes held no disgust, no disdain, not even disappointment. They held awe. They held lust.

          “You ... you can hold them,” Sophia told him. Her pause was not from reluctance, but from uncertainty. If Joseph enjoyed the sight of them ... then surely he’d enjoy holding them?

          Joseph hesitated only briefly. With his eyes still locked to her chest, he took his hands to her bosom and gently closed them around her breasts. The soft flesh had much more give than her arse, and Sophia gasped as he firmly squeezed them, pressing his fingers deep into her breasts as he kneaded them. The fondling felt far more intense than Sophia had thought it would. Her breasts had never been this sensitive, not even when she was having her blood. She began feeling extremely hot under her flesh. Joseph was making her body burn, in the best sort of way.

          “I ... I want to do more than touch them,” Joseph whispered.

          “You can do anything you want,” Sophia whispered back. In her burning lust, she wasn’t even sure what exactly Joseph spoke of, but she wanted it, whatever it was. She wanted him to enjoy her body. She’d oft fantasized of this moment, and in those fantasies, Joseph gave her the brunt of his passion.

          Joseph shifted his right hand away from her breast as he brought his mouth to it, and Sophia gasped again when he closed his lips around the circle of her nipple. She felt his tongue brush over her nub in firm, warm licks, occasionally flicking and lashing at it. A shiver of pleasure arched Sophia’s back, pushing her breast into Joseph. He answered by hollowing his cheeks and sucking inwards, drawing her supple flesh further into his mouth. Hot breath from his nose swept over her chest in strong bursts, and as Sophia panted from her open mouth with breath no less lustful, she grabbed at Joseph just as she’d done while they kissed, with one hand clenching through his thick hair and the other resting against the nape of his neck.

          When Joseph finally removed his lips from her, Sophia’s breast shined with his saliva. But his mouth did not stay astray from her flesh for long, and he swiftly turned his head and snatched her other breast into his lips. Again Sophia felt his tongue brush against her as he suckled her once more, slathering her with his tongue just as thoroughly as he did the moment before. When he accompanied the stroking of his tongue with a rhythmic squeezing of her breasts in each of his hands, pleasure stole Sophia’s breath from her lungs.

          Joseph pulled his mouth from Sophia’s teat and rested his forehead against her breastbone, sighing a deep breath. Sophia could feel the beads of sweat on his hot brow. Then, wordlessly, Joseph moved his groping hands to the small of Sophia’s back and held her close as he shifted towards the center of his bed. He gently laid Sophia onto her back and eased her head onto his pillow, and though it took some effort – courtesy of Sophia’s slight unwillingness to release him – Joseph shed himself of her hands and turned his attention to his shirt. He kneeled below Sophia’s open legs as he popped out his shirt’s buttons, and when the last one was free, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. His chest was lightly furred with short, brown hair, and his muscles were visible against the surface of his flesh, including six discernable squares on his abdomen, courtesy of hundreds of hours of sparring with his sword. Just as his brow, the flesh of his chest shined with beads of sweat. Sophia nibbled her bottom lip as she admired the sight of him. If Joseph thought his lust for Sophia was any stronger than her lust for him, then she knew he was wrong.

          Joseph reached for Sophia and curled his fingers under the waistband of her black panties. “Can I?” he asked, his eyes watching hers.

          “Yes,” Sophia said, nodding her head. She had never been more certain of anything.

          Sophia had once thought she’d dread this moment when Joseph finally saw the most private of her flesh. But now, with his hands pulling down her panties, there was no dread, there was nothing of the sort. She wanted his gaze between her legs. She wanted to see that same look of awe in his eyes that she’d seen from him just minutes earlier. No, she wanted more than that. She didn’t just want Joseph to _see_ her there, she wanted him to _touch_ her there. If he would touch her between her legs anything like he did her breasts, then it was something Sophia wanted to happen sooner and not later.

          When Sophia’s panties were off her feet, Joseph flicked them away, and he put his hands to her inner thighs and gently parted them. The mons of Sophia’s sex was smooth and bald, made hairless by the waxing. With her thighs close together, her cunt was a slim slit tucked between puffy outer folds, but as Joseph spread her legs, her flower bloomed, and her outer folds parted. The lips of her pussy were the same dark shade as her nipples, and – like the rest of her – they were petite. They did not protrude from her cleft. She was visibly wet, and her moisture glimmered in the soft candlelight.

          Joseph shifted his knees further down the bed and lowered his head to Sophia’s crotch, bringing his mouth near her sex, and Sophia took the tip of her forefinger between her teeth when his hot breath first tickled her. Joseph brought his hand to her pussy and parted her folds with two fingers, revealing the pink of her inner flesh. Sophia’s spread flower shined with abundant moisture, soaked sodden from top to bottom. Her clitoris was a pink, engorged button tucked under its long hood, and below it, at the bottom of her gash, her tunnel bubbled with her great lust. Her tunnel was still faithfully guarded by her maidenhead, a thin, worn membrane of flesh that encircled her hole.

          Sophia breathed a girlish moan when Joseph finally closed his lips onto her and ran his tongue deep within her. He experimented at first, tonguing in and around her wet lips and wetter inner folds, filling his mouth with her liquid lust. When he realized what pleasured Sophia most – no doubt from paying mind to the volume and frequency of her whimpers – Joseph focused his efforts, and he ran his tongue from her tunnel to her button and all the way to her clitoral hood in long, deep strokes of warm pressure, firm enough to lift her soft, wet folds with every lick, and with every lick, Joseph took his lips from Sophia’s flower only to swiftly smooch her again, kissing and tonguing her cunt with smooth, rhythmic strokes. His hot tongue basked Sophia in pleasure like she’d never felt, and it built a strange pressure in her loins that she could only liken to the string of a lute being tightened further and further, till it began to threaten to burst.

          “You’re ... good at this,” Sophia said with another girlish whimper.

          Joseph did not reply. He was well occupied with his task, and he’d picked up his pace while Sophia spoke, orchestrating unto her a grand crescendo of delight and pleasure. He rested his nose against her mons as his tongue brushed up and down her cunt in faster but no less firm strokes. The fierce pleasure had Sophia’s heart thumping hard, her pulse pounding behind her brows, and she struggled to find the lungfuls of air to take the deep breaths she needed. Joseph’s other hand caressed her inner thigh as his tongue made love to her flower, and he frequently ventured upwards to kiss and lick the sensitive hood of her clitoris. Before long, Sophia was moaning at the top of her lungs. The sound of it was sharp enough to force Joseph to briefly turn his blue eyes upwards, to Sophia’s face, but the expression he found was not a pained one. As his eyes looked directly to hers, Joseph moved both of his hands to her chest and closed them around her breasts, fondling her as he tongued her, and though his fingers no longer kept her flower spread, Joseph’s tongue had no trouble slipping deep into the slit of her pussy, licking and stroking her everywhere it did before. His tongue circled rhythmically inside her clitoral hood, surrounding her button with strokes so pleasurable that they were damned near painful.

          When the deep heat inside her flesh grew too strong to bear, the pressure in Sophia’s loins ignited as that lute’s string blissfully burst, and she sharply arched her back and cried out as she was flooded with molten-hot pleasure. Her body seized up, her thighs tightened, her muscles clenched, her eyes jammed shut, and her hands darted downwards to clamp through Joseph’s hair. Joseph did not slow his efforts as his lover flew on her newfound wings, and in thanks to that, the contractions that shook Sophia’s core came one after the other. When she had no more breath to continue her moan, she drove her top teeth hard into her bottom lip, and when her body finally returned to her control, she filled her lungs in one deep, gasping breath. After the contractions subsided and the last of the burning pleasure finally seceded into a peaceful sea of euphoria, Sophia collapsed onto the flat of her back, dropping her head into the cushion of Joseph’s woolen pillows, with loose strands of her long hair tousled over her face. Her arms fell limp at her sides, and her chest heaved with slow, calmed breaths. With the intense bliss having faded, a soothing, pleasant warmth swirled within her, and every touch of her skin felt gentle and airy. The soft wool of Joseph’s bed beneath her felt like a cloud, and how fitting that was. There wasn’t a more appropriate place for her angel to drop her.

          Sophia felt that cloud shift as Joseph climbed over her. He brushed the hair from her face before bringing his lips to hers, kissing her sweetly and gently, and at the touch of his lips, Sophia opened her eyes. Joseph’s soon followed suit, and the look Sophia found within them was a passionate one, his brilliant, blue eyes swimming with love, adoration ... and need. Sophia smiled at the sight of it. She knew he had not yet spent his lust. The night was not over. There was yet a plunge still to take.

          Not knowing the words to urge him onwards, Sophia ran one of her hands down Joseph’s body, down his shoulder, over his hard chest, and all the way to his trousers, all while keeping her eyes on his. That was enough to spur him.

          Joseph reared back, onto his knees. He took his hands to his belt and unfastened it. He tugged his trousers to his knees and raised his legs one at a time as he freed them, and he pulled off his shoes before tossing them and his trousers off the bed and onto the floor. Sophia could see the large bulge in his white breeches, and Joseph soon pulled them down as well. His manhood sprung free, fully erect, standing tall and stiff, and Sophia’s eyes could not help but to linger on it. It was long and thick, with a crown significantly wider than the shaft. A thicket of brown, curly hairs was nestled around the base of it, partly obscuring his taut balls. Joseph was larger than Sophia had expected him to be – much larger – but that could’ve just been from her own ignorance. She had never seen a man’s cock before, and her only reference for the size of it was her own slim cunt on her own small body. Joseph was a large man, and his member matched that.

Joseph grabbed his cock by its base and put his knees down between Sophia’s open legs. His cockhead glanced against her inner thigh as he shifted closer to her, and in that brief touch, Sophia felt how hot it was. She grabbed her legs under her knees and held them apart, opening herself to Joseph, allowing him to position himself over her. Joseph jabbed an arm into the bed beside her waist to keep himself steady, and he and Sophia looked downwards and watched together as he eased his hips forward, guiding his cock towards her, bringing it nearer and nearer. Pleasure flickered in Sophia’s loins as Joseph pushed through her outer lips, towards the entrance of her tunnel, and the thick head of his cock caught only briefly on her maidenhead before it finally tore through, deflowering her. Sophia felt not even a single painful pinch as his cock pushed into her, only a faint, gentle humming of pleasure. Despite how snug their joined flesh was, Sophia’s soaked wetness gave Joseph easy passage, and with more pressure from his hips, his cock pushed smoothly through her tight sheath. Sophia could feel her walls give way around Joseph’s hot length, inch by inch, till he was hilted inside her and the hairs of his crotch tickled her cunt.

          They turned their heads upwards and looked to each other’s faces.

          “Does it hurt?” Joseph asked as concern flashed in his gaze.

          Sophia shook her head, looking to him with eyes wide with lust and wonder. “No,” she whispered.

          Joseph was so _thick_ inside Sophia; thick, stiff, hard and hot. Her cunt was a close fit around his cock, wet and welcoming but snug and gripping. With him hilted inside her, there was this intense feeling of ... _fullness._ Joseph’s member pushed against her walls from every direction. Sophia could feel his length throb with the beat of his heart.

          Joseph began slowly drawing back, pulling his cock from Sophia’s grasping lips, till most of his length was free of her depths and only his crown still remained within her. When they glanced downwards, Sophia saw his member shining with her wetness. The sight of it was ... satisfying. _Immensely satisfying._ The most intimate of Joseph’s flesh was marked by hers. Sophia swelled with more than just lust at the thought of it.

          Joseph planted his other arm into the bed and lowered himself, bringing his body closer to Sophia’s. With Joseph between her open legs, Sophia took her hands from her knees and instead put them against his chiseled chest, marveling at the muscled, masculine shape of it. Then, just as slowly as he’d withdrawn himself, Joseph pushed his cock back inside her, and with a few more similar strokes back and forth, he’d established a slow, steady pace of smooth, sensual lovemaking. Sophia’s moist lips dragged along his length with every stroke; pushed inside her with every thrust inward and pulled outwards with every withdraw. When pleasure began thrumming again in her loins, Sophia felt an uncontrollable urge to speak, and though she was tempted to eagerly babble _‘I love you,’_ she instead decided on something else.

          “Joseph,” she moaned. “Joseph. Joseph.”

          Joseph gave a breathy groan as he eased his member in and out of Sophia’s warm, wet cunt, and Sophia felt him stiffen harder within her. She could see the pleasure in his face, in his slackened jaw and lustful eyes, and that visible lust soon swelled. Joseph’s thrusts quickened, and his hips audibly clapped into Sophia’s as he hilted himself inside her with every swift stroke. Once slim and little, Sophia’s wet, yielding pussy gaped around Joseph’s thick cock as he fucked her. He took her with deep but fast thrusts, emboldened with lust, pounding her hard enough to make her breasts bounce on her chest. The intensity quickly sharpened Sophia’s moans. She entwined her legs behind Joseph’s back, eager for his passion.

          The end was sudden. Joseph rocked Sophia’s body with a final thrust as he bottomed out and pressed his balls into her bum, pushing his cockhead to the deepest of her depths, and he gave a last, long groan as his gut visibly tensed with his climax. Sophia felt his cock jump and twitch inside her, emptying itself of his lust. Joseph closed his eyes and eased his body down onto Sophia’s, resting his forehead against hers. His cock gave a few final twitches, but as Joseph finally lost the breath to groan, it fell still.

          Sophia draped her arms over Joseph’s neck as she tilted her head and brought her lips up to his, kissing him with all the affection she could muster.

          “I love you,” she whispered when she pulled away, gazing into his eyes.

          “I love you too,” Joseph whispered back, meeting her gaze.

          Joseph reared back, taking his body from atop Sophia’s, and he gave a quiet gasp as he drew out his sensitive length. When his cock left her, Sophia felt his seed follow him, drooling out of her tunnel and seeping down the crack of her arse. It was warm, and it ran like a river. Joseph’s chest still heaved with heavy breaths when he swung his feet over the bed and stood upwards. As Sophia lay there and watched Joseph go to his dresser, she suddenly realized how incredibly tired she’d become. She slipped under the bedcovers as Joseph blew out the candles atop his dresser, till only the one that stood closest to them still burned. When he returned to her, Sophia scooted onto her side to make room for him. Joseph slipped in bed behind her, and Sophia sighed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her hair. When she closed her eyes, she knew sleep would soon come.

          - - -

          Sophia awoke to the morning tolling of the city’s bells. Five-o’-clock. The city would be fully alive before six. Markets would be bustling. Workers would be shouting, and their children would be laughing.

          The early sun stabbed at Sophia’s closed eyes through the bedroom window’s blinds, spurring her wider awake. She yawned as she gingerly opened her eyes, squinting at first. Joseph’s arms were still wrapped around her waist, and she could still feel his head resting against the back of hers. She considered staying in bed, in Joseph’s embrace, but a strong urge to pee suddenly reared its head, and it would not be denied. She eased Joseph’s arms off of her and peeled back the bed’s sheets and blankets. She touched her feet down on the floor’s fur rug and hurriedly scampered out into the hall and into the privy.

          When she finished with the chamber pot and stood her feet, Sophia noticed a feeling of stickiness in the crack of her arse. After she realized what it was, she took a cloth rag from the shelf and wiped away Joseph’s dried seed. There was quite a lot of it, and even after wiping the last of it off, a faint feeling of stickiness prevailed. As well as Joseph’s sheets needing washing, Sophia figured she’d need a bath at some point. Perhaps she could gather water in a tub for her and Joseph to share? Or maybe they could splurge on a private room at a bathhouse? Both were possible. Sophia liked the thought of either.

          Sophia returned to Joseph’s bedroom, where she found that he had not awoken. He had not even moved. He still lay on his side facing the door, in the same position she’d left him in. He was certainly alive, though. His chest still moved. He had not fucked Sophia to his own death. Not yet, anyways, she thought with a smirk.

          Sophia flipped open her trunk and threw on undergarments and a simple brown-and-white dress. When she was clothed, she went to Joseph’s dresser and blew out the still-burning candle, saving what little wax was left. She left for the hall again and walked to the kitchen. As she stood there, eyeing the kitchen table, she decided she would cook them breakfast.

          Sophia had never once cooked in her life, but she’d watched her father’s servants do it many times. It couldn’t be too hard. Firstly, she took a leather hair tie from her trunk in the bedroom and weaved her hair into a single, long tail, and with that done, she returned to the kitchen and flipped open each drawer and cabinet to examine what – if any – foodstuffs Joseph had on-hand. There wasn’t much ... but there was enough for a stew. The large black pot dangling over the hearth was thankfully already full with water, and it was a simple enough task to use the tinderbox to get the hearth’s coals burning. Sophia chopped up two carrots, half a potato, a salt-preserved strip of venison, and plopped it all into the pot. Using every spice in his cabinets, she added one pinch each of basil, parsley, and pepper. She grabbed a wooden ladle and stirred the stew well with each new addition.

          It wasn’t a King or a Lord’s stew, but it was something. She wasn’t sure if she’d done it quite right, but it _looked_ edible.

          After the stew had been simmering for thirty or so minutes, Sophia dipped the ladle into the pot and slurped from it. She nodded. It was decent. It would suffice. It might not amaze Joseph, but Sophia never knew him to be a picky eater. She was just glad to have made something palatable.

          Sophia let the stew simmer for more than an hour total, till the chunks of venison were tender. When she was confident the stew was finished, she gathered some of it into two bowls and set them on opposite sides of the kitchen table. She then took the biscuit loaf that sat on the corner of the countertop and pulled it into two pieces, intentionally tearing one into a noticeably larger chunk than the other. Joseph would certainly need to eat more than her, being of such larger stature. Sophia’s appetite had always been a meager one anyways.

          Just as she began to wonder when Joseph would finally awaken, Sophia heard his footsteps, and she turned towards the hall. Joseph stood at the far end of the kitchen from her, wearing only a pair of beige breeches. He still looked half-asleep, his eyes groggy and half-lidded, his hand idly itching the hairs of his bare chest.

          “The corpse rises,” Sophia quipped with a smile. “And here I’d just started to mourn you.” She took Joseph’s arm and guided him to his seat at the table. “I cooked a stew for us,” she said as he sat in the chair. “And there’s plenty left, if you’re still hungry after that bowl.”

          Sophia took her own seat across from him. They both dipped their bread into their stew and took a bite, but Sophia chewed slowly, as she was more interested in seeing Joseph’s reaction. Fearing the worst, she watched for a grimace or a blatantly disgusted furrowing of his brows ... but that reaction never came, and Joseph’s expression held plain and unfazed as he ate.

          They ate in silence. Sophia would’ve made small talk, but she wasn’t sure what she ought to speak of. She wondered if maybe she ought to ask how they’ll spend the day? Perchance ask if he would want to view a performance at the theater? No ... no, that was too pestering. Joseph had worked a long week on watch, and what he deserved was a _quiet_ Saturday morning, not one of being badgered with questions. And if Joseph wanted to go nowhere at all, then Sophia would gladly join him in a relaxing day at home.

          “Sophia,” Joseph suddenly said. His voice was hoarse and croaky, and he audibly cleared his throat after that first word.

          Sophia’s eyes quickly flicked upwards from her bowl.

          “I ... I had a thought when I awoke,” Joseph muttered. “And I want to tell you it. I imagine it’ll seem strange ... but I want to say it.”

          Sophia swallowed her mouthful of food. “Alright,” she said softly.

          “When I was younger,” Joseph started, speaking slowly, taking time for each word, “My father told me the true test of a guardsman isn’t how strong he is. It isn’t how hard or fast he can swing his sword, or how heavy a barrel he can lift. He said the true test of a guardsman is whether he can give his life to save another. For the longest time, that thought frightened me. I’d gladly fight for someone, to protect those who can’t protect themselves ... but ... to sacrifice myself for someone ... I couldn’t fathom it. I know I’d go to God, but ... I just didn’t want to die. I still don’t. But ...”

          Joseph burned his gaze into Sophia’s.

          “... I want you to know,” he said. “I’d die for you.”

          Sophia opened her mouth, but no words came. Joseph looked back to his bowl and resumed eating.

          “I love you,” Sophia said, finally finding her voice.

          Joseph glanced up at her and smiled. “I love you too.”

          - - -

          Sunday night came so soon. The weekend was already nearing its close. The sun was gone, and Sophia had candles burning throughout the flat.

          Sophia folded Joseph’s clothes on his bed and tucked them into his dresser, organizing his shirts, trousers, and breeches into their own drawers. She’d washed them the night before and had left them to dry on a clothesline. Joseph had assured her that she need not feel any obligation to do so, but she insisted. Sophia had felt this strange sort of satisfaction when she’d cooked them that breakfast the day before, and as she predicted, tending to his wardrobe gave her that same feeling. For all eighteen years of her life she’d been waited on hand and foot by her father’s butler and maids, and for her to take charge and actually do something herself, it felt almost ... _liberating._ Maybe she’d tire of it eventually, but if nothing else, it made for a refreshing change of pace. And Sophia had daydreamed of her future with Joseph oft enough to know what it would entail, and she knew that, unless she took coin from her father, which she did not intend to do, there would be no servants waiting on them. Perchance Madelyn would never agree to that sort of existence, but Sophia was no such delicate flower.

          When she slipped the last pair of folded breeches into its drawer, Sophia heard a pounding at the flat’s entry door. Her heart briefly fluttered with joy at the thought of Joseph returning home from his nine-to-nine shift, but that joy faded when she realized it likely wasn’t him. Why would he pound on his own door, to which he has a key?

          Sophia hurried to the door and unfastened its lock before swinging it open. Her eyes were instinctively peering at an upwards angle, being accustomed to looking up at Joseph, but it took her an awkward moment to realize to look downwards, where she found a young boy, a postboy, judging by the telltale satchel opposite the lit lantern at his waist. He was tan-skinned and garbed in unkempt clothes, with a head of black, short-cut hair, big, green eyes, and cheeks marred with flecks of dirt. An _‘island child.’_ There were other words for him as well – ethnic slurs – but Sophia did what she could to keep those from her mind. She’d been called those words oft enough herself.

          “Sophia Thomas?” the boy chirped.

          “Um ... yes,” Sophia mumbled.

          “This is for you.”

          The boy brandished from his satchel a rolled scroll bound with a tied string, and he held it to Sophia with an outstretched arm.

          “Are you sure this isn’t for Joseph Beckham?” Sophia questioned as she took the scroll from him.

          “No, milady,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I was told to give it to Sophia Thomas.”

          “How did you know I was ...” Sophia paused when the boy turned and scampered away. “... here.”

          Sophia closed the door and fastened its lock. She sat at the kitchen table and untied the scroll’s string. She unrolled it and held it before her eyes.

          _To my darling Sophia,_

_I pen this letter to you to inform you that I am leaving the city. The Lord has urgent business in the Capital and I must accompany him. I am not certain when we will return. By the end of the month, I would presume._

_As you well know by reading this, I am aware that you are with Joseph and that his home was your true destination. Do not bother asking how I know. I’m your father. It’s my job to know you’re safe. And needless to note, you have my blessing. Joseph is a good man, and you and I both know that he loves you dearly. He holds you deep in his heart, just as I do, and there is no man I trust more with your wellbeing._

_I suspect that you may now be desiring to make Joseph’s home your own, and if that’s true, know that it’s fully within your right. But also know that you’ll always have a bed under my roof, should you need it. Enjoy yourself, my darling, and give Joseph my regards._

_With undying love, your father,_

_Charles Mathias Thomas_

Sophia rolled up the scroll. A smile curled along her lips.

          The door clicked behind her, and it swung open right as Sophia stood to her feet and turned to face it. Joseph did not spot her as he closed the door behind him, and when he turned towards her, Sophia was upon him, grabbing him and greeting him with a brief but deep kiss. But when she pulled away – still holding his shoulders – she saw the expression on his face, and it was not what she had thought she’d see. His eyes were somber, and he was nearly frowning. Before Sophia could ask what troubled him, Joseph spoke first.

          “I don’t want you to leave tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes held a weakness Sophia had never seen from him. “I ... I need you, Sophia. I need you with me when I sleep. I need you beside me when I wake up. I can’t go a night without you, not now that—”

          —Sophia silenced him with a kiss, and she kept her lips against his for a long, long while, until she was certain Joseph’s worries were at least partly eased. When she broke away, she cupped each of his cheeks in her hands. “Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be,” she whispered to him. “Whatever bed you use, that’s where I’ll sleep. From this day until our last.”

          “Your father ... he won’t want you to stay.”

          Sophia smiled again. “He wants what I want,” she said. “And I want to stay.”

          Joseph pulled her into another kiss, a deep one this time, and Sophia sighed as their tongues brushed together. “I burn for you,” Joseph whispered between kisses, his voice throaty and raspy. “I think of you every minute ... of every hour. I think of your face ... the smell of your hair ... I think of your body ...  your cunt. My lust for you is a fire unending.”

          Sophia held his face, keeping his lips from hers for a moment. “It’s alright, my love,” Sophia reassured him in a whisper, smirking. “You’re home now,” she said as she stroked his cheek. “Give me your fire.”

          Not a moment after the last word left her, Joseph clutched Sophia’s back and bottom in his hands as he heaved her upwards, lifting her off the ground, and Sophia giggled as she locked her legs around him. Joseph took her to the kitchen table and carelessly brushed away the scroll, wooden bowl and tablecloth that rested on it. He laid Sophia on her back atop the table, and with hungry hands he assisted her in quickly shedding her of all her clothes. Her breasts came free from her brassiere with a light jiggle, and when her panties were all that remained, Joseph greedily pulled them down and yanked them off her feet. Sophia took the hair tie from her ponytail and fluffed her freed hair behind herself with both hands, draping her long, brown locks across the table and down the opposite side of it. Joseph disrobed no less swiftly, pulling off his shoes, throwing off his vest and shirt, and tugging down his trousers. His sword and scabbard hit the floor with a loud clang and thud.

          When they were both nude, Joseph grabbed Sophia’s hips and pulled her closer to the table’s edge. He brought her legs up and rested them on his shoulders, and he ran two of his fingers against the flat of his tongue before lowering them to her crotch and rubbing them along her hairless slit. Sophia gasped at the tickle of pleasure. The added moisture wasn’t needed, as Joseph then certainly realized, and his fingers left her pussy wetter than they were. His erect cock poked against her inner thigh, and Joseph promptly closed his hand around the base of it and guided it to her gash. With her legs close like they were, her pussy’s puffy folds stayed pressed together, and the lips of her cunt were tucked between them, into a deep slit. Wetness leaked from the little hole of her tunnel, and it took no effort for Joseph’s cock to push inside it.

          Her hot tunnel opened and widened around him as Joseph thrusted into her in one quick, hilting stroke, sheathing all of himself inside her, and that same tingling warmth Sophia had come to love flushed outwards from her loins as his cock filled her. Joseph showed no patience – nor did Sophia want him to – and the moment his crown prodded against the barrier of the winking entrance to her womb, he drew back the entirety of his length only to promptly slot himself back inside her and rhythmically repeat the process anew, fucking her good and hard. Sophia’s breasts swayed up and down on her chest, and the table creaked noisily beneath her. Joseph held his arm around her legs and kept them clutched against his chest, and with his other hand, he reached for one of her swaying breasts and groped it, deeply squeezing the warm, pliant flesh as he teased her stiff, dark nipple in his fingers. Echoes of pleasure sang throughout Sophia’s body, and she gave girlish whimpers and whines as she clenched her fists and bunched her arms together on each side of her breasts.

          “Joseph,” Sophia moaned. “Oh, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph.”

          She liked to voice his name while he fucked her, to remind herself who was inside her. It strengthened her pleasure. Joseph never spoke when they made love, but it wasn’t needed to know what he felt. His expressions, whether it be a bitten lip or a slackened jaw, and the breaths from his lungs, whether they be short, pleased grunts or lengthy, ragged groans, betrayed his bliss. He felt the same pleasure Sophia did. Maybe more.

          Though Sophia could still count the times they’d made love on one hand, she already knew that this was how she preferred it: with Joseph in charge of the thrusting, with _him_ in control of the rhythm of their love, with herself at the mercy of _his_ lust and _his_ fiery passion.

          Joseph pummeled his hips against Sophia’s thighs and bum, noisily clapping his flesh against hers, and as he claimed her cunt with deep, forceful thrusts, a strange but pleasant throbbing she did not recognize began pulsing inside her. It was a stronger pleasure than she had known when Joseph fucked her, and it took her a moment to recognize what it was. With herself flat on her back and Joseph on his feet, the erect, upwards curvature of his cock made his crown press firmly against the roof of her tunnel with every strong thrust, and it stimulated something sensitive inside her that Sophia did not know was there, and with each thrust, increasingly hot pleasure flared inside her. Eager to enhance that pleasure, Sophia slid one of her hands down her body to the puffy mound of her pussy. She rubbed her forefinger over the hood of her clitoris, and that worked wonderfully to intensify every pulse of pleasure that came as Joseph pounded his cock through her snug sheath. When Sophia dared to dip her finger into her slit and encircle her sensitive button inside its hood, she swiftly ascended to her peak.

          When Joseph looked to Sophia’s face and saw it scrunched in pleasure – her eyes narrowed, her lip bitten – he ceased his groping of her breast and took ahold of her free hand, tightly curling his fingers through hers.

          Sophia’s body clenched as a burning bliss ignited within her. Her cunt rhythmically tightened in her climax, squeezing down on Joseph’s cock, and that brought him to his end. Joseph gave his final thrust as he joined her in orgasm, rocking Sophia’s body as he bottomed out inside her and pressed his crown against her womb. She could feel his member pulse against her clenching inner walls, spurting his seed deep within her.

          They held there motionless for a long while, their chests heaving, as they listened to nothing more than the sound of their weary breathing.

          Much later, Joseph pulled his hand from Sophia’s breast and slid that arm beneath the small of her back as he lifted her up. When he brought her into his embrace, Sophia grabbed Joseph’s shoulders and again entwined her legs around his hips as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips over his. With her firmly held against him, Joseph strode through the kitchen and down the hall, into his bedroom. His eyes closed like Sophia’s, he used a single hand as a sort of blind man’s walking stick to guide him around the corners. At his bed, he eased himself onto his back on the thick, soft covers, with his and Sophia’s lips still connected in a gentle kiss. Joseph rolled to his side, taking Sophia with him, and he finally broke their kiss. They opened their eyes at last and looked to each other as they simply shared the comfort of each other’s gazes. After it softened, Joseph’s member finally slipped from her, and Sophia felt his warm seed trickle down the side of her thigh.

          Sophia took her hand from Joseph’s shoulder and grazed her fingers along his cheek as her eyes flitted across his face.

          “Sophia,” Joseph whispered, and her eyes promptly locked with his. “You said you wanted us to be lovers.” He paused and lightly shook his head. “I don’t want to be lovers.”

          Sophia’s brows lowered, and her fingers fell still on his cheek.

          “I want to be more,” he whispered.

          Sophia smiled. “Then we’ll be more,” she whispered back.

          - - -

          _Five years later,_

Sophia followed Joseph as he walked through the hall to the bedroom across from their own. He clutched their girls in each of his arms, Brianna in his left and Emmelyn in his right. Their long, brown hair was brushed smooth, free of knots. Though Emmelyn was still too young for it, Brianna was already brushing hers herself.

          The autumn was proving to be a cold one, and the girls were each clothed in thick, wool nightrobes Sophia had sewn for them. Their tired, half-lidded eyes glimmered in the soft candlelight, Brianna’s being the blue of her father and Emmelyn’s being the green of her mother. Held against him, their faces’ color visibly contrasted Joseph’s. Their skin was a few shades lighter than Sophia’s, but she knew there was no mistaking their islander heritage. And that’s alright. Brianna and Emmelyn knew nothing about race, and if Joseph and Sophia were to have it their way, they never truly would. As far as they knew, there was only one word to describe the curiousness of their color, and it wasn’t _‘tanskin’_ or even _‘mixblood.’_ It was simply _‘sunkissed.’_

Brianna already dreamed of what she will do when she _‘gets big.’_ A few months ago she wanted to be a harpist, now she yearned to be a harpist _and_ an actress. Quite a busy life that’d be. It was strange ... Sophia couldn’t recall ever dreaming of her future in the way Brianna did, not when she was little, nor when she was a teen. Just how truly limited had her insecurities rendered her thoughts? If she could take back those wasted worries on the color of her skin ... but it couldn’t be changed now. Brianna and Emmelyn would not be that way, and that’s what mattered.

          The girls rested their heads under their father’s stubbled jaw as he carried them through the doorway. They yawned tiredly, ready for sleep. These being the same two girls that were sprinting around the flat just half an hour earlier. Joseph’s fatherly touch was an amazing sight. Brianna and Emmelyn would so oft be endless storms of energy at their bedtime, but as soon as Joseph came home from his watch and held them in his arms, they became tranquil. It never failed. Sophia hadn’t any idea how Joseph did it, but she was glad for it. Joseph was a great husband, but somehow, he was an even better father. He was only a man of twenty-four, and yet fatherhood came so naturally to him.

          In their bedroom, Joseph strode to the girls’ shared bed. He laid them down, tucked the heavy bedcovers under their chins, and kissed their cheeks.

          “Love you, Papa,” the girls said in unison before closing their eyes.

          _‘Lohve.’_ They spoke with the commoner accent.

          “And I love you,” Joseph replied.

          He left their side and strode to their dresser, where a row of six lit candles stood. He blew them out until only one remained, leaving just enough light for Bri and Emmie to see where whey walk, should they need to rise during the night to use the chamber pot. It wasn’t for the sake of any fear of the dark. The girls feared nothing, not with their father just across the hall.

          Joseph returned to Sophia in the doorway. She smiled at him and cupped his face, running her fingers along his coarse stubble. Joseph had let it grow for the first time a few years ago. Sophia once wasn’t sure about it, but she’d since come to love it. It was ... _masculine._ He still had his thick curls of hair, and that Sophia would _never_ let him change.

          Joseph’s stubble was marred by a small, pinkish scar on the left side of his jaw, a keepsake and reminder of a man Joseph was left no choice but to cut down. That killing still weighed heavy on Joseph’s soul – Sophia could see it in his eyes – but she rarely saw him sullen. The girls gave him solace. _‘My angels,’_ he called them.

          As Sophia cupped his cheek, Joseph in turn rested his hand over the swell of her stomach. She was thirty weeks along. Another daughter, Sophia sensed. Joseph had his doubts of that, but she’d been right about Bri and Emmie. God deemed to give her daughters, it seemed. The old Sophia would’ve dreaded that, to have to be an example for younger girls, but not Sophia as she was now. She was glad the girls had her to guide them. She knew it was a blessing to be able to do for them what her own mother wasn’t able to do for her.

          Sophia and Joseph made their way to their bedroom, closing both the girls’ door and their own door behind them. They’d moved into a flat with two bedrooms a floor below Joseph’s old one not long after Brianna was born, just over four years ago now.

          Only one candle flickered away within their bedroom, sitting on the dresser. Joseph disrobed first, and Sophia followed suit. Joseph ran his eyes and hands along her nude form, caressing her shoulders, cupping her sensitive breasts, traveling the wide curves of her hips, and again finding the great swell of her pregnancy. Joseph’s body had changed little in the past five years, but Sophia could not say the same. Hers was noticeably different from when they’d first made love. The changes were subtle but sure. Her breasts had swollen, her nipples had darkened, and her hips had widened; all of the boon of motherhood. But none of that made for any boost of Sophia’s confidence, nor did she need it to be. That was simply as nature was. Her crotch was still smooth and bald of hair, but that was from her own independent choice, not from any need for self-assurance. Waxing was not the pain or the hassle it once was, and she’d come to be fond of the smoothness.

          Sophia’s hands grazed over Joseph’s firm chest, and her eyes followed her fingers as they raked through his body’s hair and moved along the noticeable muscles of his abdomen down towards his crotch, where her fingers gently coiled around the stiff base of his cock. It was hot with blood, needy and lustful, longing to be sheathed inside her. As she smoothly brought her hand up and down his length, Sophia smirked at the thought that she’d ever once feared to do this: to know Joseph’s flesh, and to let him know hers. This nighttime ritual had become essential to her life. Parenthood may have limited the fire of their passion to a time of the day, but it certainly did not dim it. And though she didn’t think it to be possible, Joseph’s fatherliness only made Sophia’s lust burn hotter for him.

          Their eyes eventually returned upwards, and they smiled warmly as they gazed at each other. Joseph put his hands to Sophia’s hips as she backpedaled towards their bed. Standing at its edge, she draped her arms over his neck and began lowering herself onto her back, but just before she did, Sophia raised herself again and captured Joseph’s lips in a loving kiss.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story – which I hope you did! – you might also enjoy the other stories in my [ series of original, romantic eroticas. ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/608200) Thanks for reading.


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